


Mine

by Lakritzwolf



Series: Kink Bingo 2017 [4]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Return to Treasure Island (TV 1996)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Jealous Jim, M/M, Possessive Jim, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-10-10 10:42:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10435911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakritzwolf/pseuds/Lakritzwolf
Summary: Written for the Kink Bingo hosted by Gathering FiKi on tumblr. Simply a brilliant idea. Five kinks, five pairings, five times fun.Part Four: Possessiveness





	1. Mine

**Author's Note:**

> **I somehow feel the need to say this: I have no issues with the character of Demelza in particular, or with shipping Romelza in general. The purpose of this fic is not ship-bashing but the kink stated in the title. The words of the characters do not reflect my personal opinions about ships and characters but are narrative tools for the sake of storytelling.**

“Sometimes I wish I had met you sooner.”

After locking the door behind him, Jim poured some wine from the carafe into their glasses and lifted his eyebrows. “Only sometimes?”  
Ross shrugged with a crooked smile. “Most times.”  
“Most times.” Jim put one glass down in front of Ross, a small frown on his face.  
“What can I say?” Ross took the glass with a sigh. “What do you want to hear?”  
“To be honest,” Jim began and took a sip of wine after sitting down. “I don’t quite know what I want to hear.”  
“Vows of undying love and desire?”  
Jim weighed his head. “It’s a start.” 

Ross took a sip of his wine as well. “And sometimes I wish I hadn’t met you at all.”  
“Which I can understand.” Jim leaned back and crossed his legs. “It would make both our lives that much easier.”

With a sigh, Ross stared into his glass and the ruby-red reflections glittering in the etching. 

“Ross?”  
Ross put the glass down again. “If we were ever to be found out...” He began.  
“What so?” Jim took another sip.  
“What so?” Ross pressed both hands flat onto the table. “That’s easy for you to say! You have a ship, and you aren’t the one who is married!”

Jim licked his lips and put the glass down. “Now that’s true,” he said slowly. “Hence the wishing we’d met sooner.”  
“Or not at all.” Ross ran both hands through his hair. “Because even if I weren’t married, then this would still be...”  
“Nothing that is anyone’s concern.”  
“For you, as a sailor, maybe.”  
“And didn’t you tell me you and the men of your unit used to be with each other in the darkness and behind the bushes?” Jim asked with narrow eyes.  
“Yes.” Ross stared at the table and his fingers. “That still doesn’t...”  
“Doesn’t what?” Jim asked sharply. “Make it right? Who says what is right and what is wrong?”  
“A lot of people, and most of them are more important than me.”

Jim got up and stared out of the small window. The inn wasn’t the best in town, but they were close to the harbour and better inns were expensive here. Additionally, in cheaper inns people asked fewer questions. The innkeeper had strict instructions that the two gentlemen were not to be disturbed as they had ‘important business to discuss’, but to judge by the expression on his face he had been crystal clear on what business they had, exactly. Jim had made sure he wouldn’t talk. He was a reliable source of income for the landlord.

“I understand that you wish we both had looked the other way that night,” Jim said and watched two whores chat with some sailors, flaunting their goods and giggling like maidens. Their cheap jewellery reflected the orange light of the sinking sun and made them look like puppets of a travelling fair. “If we hadn’t met, then we wouldn’t be living with the threat of being accused of sodomy, and neither would you be an adulterer.”

Ross sighed and closed his eyes. 

“Is she worth it?”  
“What?” 

Ross opened his eyes again and Jim turned around, fixing him with an intense stare of his bright blue eyes.

“Is she worth it?” Jim asked again. “Being married to. Is her body scrumptious, soft and ready for you? Does her honeypot lure you and satisfy you? Is she worth it?”  
Ross took a deep breath and met Jim’s eyes. “I thought she was,” he said slowly. “Before I met you.”

Jim huffed out a mirthless chuckle. “If she were a man, I’d challenge her to a duel and make you mine.”  
“You wouldn’t.” Ross got up and stepped up to him. “You are not the one to bind yourself to anyone. Not for long. Your only true love is the sea. And your only mistress is your ship.”  
Jim crossed his arms.  
“Tell me it isn’t so.”

After a moment, Jim took a step forward, and now they were so close his breath grazed the skin on Ross’ face. 

“I do not know how to convince you otherwise,” he whispered. “As you refuse to put it to the test.”  
“And risk everything?”  
“And what is everything?” Jim leaned closer. “A wretched estate half in ruins, a mine that doesn’t yield, debts and obligations and a marriage that you hate?”  
“It is all I have.”  
“All you have?” Jim narrowed his eyes again. “You could have freedom with me, and own the world!”  
“And if you tire of me, I will have nothing left.”  
“Who says I would tire of you?”  
“I told you, men like you do not bind themselves.”  
Jim’s voice was a low growl. “If you believe that, then why do you keep coming back to me?”  
“What makes a moth fly into the candle flame?” Ross asked, meeting his eyes.

They stared at each other for a heartbeat before they both moved, and their lips met for a wild, hungry kiss. Moaning softly against each other’s lips they began to claw at their clothes, hastily unbuckling belts, kicking off boots and unlacing breeches. They broke the kiss only because they had to get rid of their shirts. 

Once Ross had undressed down to his smallclothes, Jim pushed him roughly on to the bed. He stepped free of his breeches and dropped his smallclothes as well. Ross eyed his erection with unmasked greed.

Then Jim knelt down on the bed and straddled his hips. His eyes were dark with lust and something else. 

“I hate her,” he said in a low, rough voice. “I hate her so much. She has what I cannot have. She sits with you during every meal, she walks at your side, she sleeps in your bed. You give her what you will not give to me.”  
“And what is that?” Ross asked in a breathless whisper.  
“You,” Jim replied, voice still rough. “All that I want and cannot have. She has you, and I don’t. Do you think this is enough for me? A few hours in a dingy room in a cheap inn once every month? And then one day, she will bear you a son, an heir, and you will love him and her for it; and you will adore her and worship her for her womb, and your conscience will bite you, and I will never see you again.”

Ross stared at him with parted lips. His chest was heaving in heavy breaths. 

“Don’t you see?” Jim almost snarled. “I want more than this! And I know you want more than this too! And I do not understand why a man like you, who fought in the war and faced death and destruction, is too big a coward to grasp the fortune that lies in the palm of his hand!”  
“Jim...”

Jim unlaced Ross’ smallclothes with impatient, jerky moves.

“You are mine,” he snarled. “And if I have to share her with you, I am going to make sure you won’t forget it.”

Once he had disposed of the fabric, Jim grabbed Ross by the hips and forced him to lie on his stomach. Ross didn’t put up any resistance and pressed his face into the pillow. 

Jim quickly left the bed again and dug into his satchel from which he produced a small glass bottle. He uncorked it and inhaled the fragrance.

“Highest quality coconut oil,” he said with a dark smile. “The best, really.”

He knelt down on the bed again, between Ross’ legs, and pushed them apart with his knees. Ross didn’t resist. 

“You are mine,” Jim said again. It was almost a growl. “Mine.”

He slicked him up, but he didn’t take much time to prepare him. Then he used the oil on himself and grabbed Ross’ hips. 

“You’re mine,” he growled and pulled Ross’ backside up before he aligned himself. “Mine.”

He pushed in, and his heavy moan mingled with that of Ross which was of a slightly different quality, lust and greed interlaced with a bit of pain.

“Mine, do you hear me?” Jim gasped in a husky voice as he moved. “Mine. Even if I have to share you with her, you are mine, do you understand? Mine!”

Ross did not reply, his moans muffled by the pillow into which he pressed his face. 

Jim let himself go and he did not need long before he reached his peak and spent himself into Ross’ unresisting body. A few last hard thrusts, and he slowly collapsed onto him, breathing hard and heavily. His touch was gentle now as he ran his hand down Ross’ back. 

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “And you will be aware of it every minute you spend on horseback tomorrow when you ride back to her. You will still feel the soreness and slickness between your ass cheeks and you will know that it was me, my touch, and you will come home smelling of coconut oil and of sweat and of me.”

He rolled down and helped Ross turn onto his back again. Ross looked at him and met his eyes. 

Jim trailed a finger down the scar. “You can lie to yourself, but not to me. You’re mine.”

Ross still didn’t say anything. Jim leaned forward and kissed his lips. Then he straightened up, but only to bend over Ross’ lap again. 

“Look at me,” he whispered as he closed his hand around Ross’ hardening cock again. “Look at me, Ross Poldark, look at me when I do it.”

He lowered his head and took him into his mouth, as deeply as he could, and held Ross’ eyes with a smouldering glare. Ross gasped and his fingers dug into the sheet under him so hard the fabric was beginning to give.

“Look at me,” Jim whispered, resting the tip of Ross’ cock against his lower lip. “Look and remember this, next time you fuck her. Remember my lips when you plough her. You’re mine.”

He sucked Ross down again, and he licked and sucked, and bobbed his head, but not once did he break eye contact, not until Ross’ eyes rolled back into his head as he spent himself into Jim’s mouth. 

After that, Jim fetched them more wine and they settled down in the bed close to each other, leaning against the headboard with the blanket covering their legs. 

“Come with me,” Jim said, even though he knew the answer.  
“I can’t,” Ross replied. 

They spent the night in each other’s arms, and neither of them spoke again. 

They left the inn with sunrise and made their farewell at the pier. Jim boarded his ship and watched Ross mount his horse. He didn’t look back. He would buy a bit of Flemish lace for his wife, and a few silk ribbons maybe, and ride back home to continue living a lie. 

With a heavy sigh, Jim turned away and ordered his men to set sail.


	2. Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few people asked me in the comments of the first chapter if this couldn't get a continuation, and while I wasn't opposed to the idea, inspiration refused to cooperate. Why it chose so now I don't know, but that's the way a creative mind work. My mind anyway. 
> 
> So here's the continuation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Again, this is not to be read as ship-bashing or hating on a character.**

Jim headed for Penzance harbour again several times that year, but Ross did not come. Jim had known he would not come anymore, yet he had come anyway.

They spent the harshest winter months moored in Dublin and left for Penzance again as early as the Irish Sea allowed a crossing. Ross did not come, and Jim told himself to stop hoping.

The prettiest and most expensive whores in Dublin, London or Amsterdam could do nothing to drive the memories away. He didn’t even think about paying for a man’s service, as readily available as they would be in these places. Nothing could replace him. And he hated him for it. He wanted him back. And for that weakness, Jim hated himself.

In his need to get away, really away, from all of these memories, Jim set sail from Amsterdam and sailed along the coast to the west, past Gibraltar and the Cape Horn, past the Cape of Good Hope and the Red Sea. He had never been to India, although what going to India would change, he did not know.

When he came back, his hull full of silk and spices, he tried not to think of Cornwall but headed for Amsterdam again. Here, in the wealthiest city of Europe, he sold his wares for a fortune. But the gold meant nothing to him. He kept what he needed and his crew blessed and praised him for the generous wages and the shore leave they could afford with it. Unsurprisingly, they all came back. A generous captain has a loyal crew.

They crossed the Atlantic with favourable winds, and came back from the West Indies with tobacco and rum. A bit of that was left in the hull when they left Amsterdam, and after a bit more than a year, Jim anchored in Penzance again.

The other gentleman had never shown up again, the innkeeper told him. Jim could see there was honest compassion in his eyes, and he resisted the urge to punch him. He rented their old room and ordered wine, and he got so viciously drunk like he hadn’t been in a very long time. He left the inn again the next morning with bitter regret tasting like bile on his tongue.

But after staring down the road on which he had seen Ross leave so long ago, he straightened up, squared his shoulders, and headed for the small livery stable. And less than an hour later, after leaving the ship in command of his first mate for the time being and his men on shore leave, he left the harbour on his rented, nameless horse.

He didn’t quite know what to expect, what to say to him, even. He just wanted to see Ross, make Ross see him, make him remember. Make him remember.

Ross was no longer his. Had never truly been, but both of them had let the lie happen. Maybe for too long.

He reached the Poldark estate, still not sure what to do, but he wasn’t prepared for the sight.

There was nothing left. The buildings were burnt down to the ground. Charred beams and crumbling remains of walls was all that remained. There was nothing alive but weeds stirring in the wind.

His throat too dry to swallow Jim turned his horse around and left, followed the same road that had led him here. He met a farmer on the road and asked about the fate of Ross Poldark. What he heard made his head swim. It couldn’t be true.

“A tragedy,” the man said mournfully. “It is said he didn’t survive the death of his beautiful lady. Died in childbed, she did. A tragedy. Drunk himself into oblivion, only days after he had put her into the ground. They found his body in the ruins, burnt to the bones.” He shook his head. “Burnt to the bones.”

Jim had no idea what to think, and he had no idea how he managed to thank the man and be on his way again. He felt as if he was watching himself as he nudged his horse down the road, and he didn’t even make a conscious decision about it when he passed the church.

He found the grave and looked at the stone for a very long time. He took off his hat and stared at the letters carved into the stone, willing them to go away. But there they were, carved into the dark granite for eternity, and he would remain there, his bones resting and rotting beside his lady. He was gone. Jim had let him go, and now he was forever out of his reach. They had buried him almost three months ago, when Jim had been on his way to the West Indies trying to forget.

He would not cry.

“Rest in peace, Ross Poldark,” he said and after a nod, put his hat back on again and turned away.

He would not cry.

His nameless horse carried him back to Penzance, and Jim kept staring at the reins. The clouds opened their gates and poured the rain down on him as if to make up for the tears he did not allow himself to shed.

He would not cry.

After he had delivered his horse he boarded his ship again and told his first mate to gather the crew. Seeing that something serious was bothering his captain he nodded silently and set to work. Jim headed into his cabin and locked the door behind him.

He fell down onto the bed and buried his face in his hands.

And he cried.

* * *

They had to wait for the morning tide, and Jim took the opportunity and told the innkeeper that they would not need their room ever again. The man nodded in silence, sadness and understanding in his eyes, and wordlessly handed Jim a glass of brandy that Jim downed with a grateful nod. When he wanted to pay the innkeeper waved it aside and shook his head. Jim tipped the brim of his hat and left.

They both knew he would never come back.

Jim was lost in memories on his way back towards the pier, so lost in thought that he only noticed the commotion when he had already almost reached his ship. A few of his men were holding down another man, no more than a filthy beggar by the look of him, in clothes that were hardly more than dirty rags and his face overgrown with a matted beard.

“He was slinking around the ship, Captain,” one of his men said. “Filthy crab-louse had the gall to ask about you!”

Jim stepped closer, and the beggar in the grip of his second mate looked up. Whiskey coloured eyes stared at Jim out of the unkempt mass of hair.

For a moment, time stood still. Then Jim’s heart began to beat again.

“Ross?” His voice was a mere whisper.

A hesitant smile twitched what was visible of his lips, but it did not reach his eyes. “Jim.”

Jim was numb. His mind could not make sense of what he was seeing with his own eyes.

His second mate let go of Ross who straightened up and rolled his shoulders.

“But… you’re dead?”  
“Yes and no,” Ross replied in a voice that sounded husky from long disuse.

Still unable to think, Jim shook his head in mute despair. He just about had the presence of mind left to gesture at his men to leave him alone, and they left with distrustful glares at the ragged, dirty stranger.

“I could not…” Ross swallowed hard. “I could not forget. I was a damned man. I was sleeping next to her, but all I could think of was you. I was inside her, and all I could smell was coconut.” He shook his head, his eyes glistening. The tears vanished into the matted beard. “I could not forget.” The words petered out into a thin, lifeless whisper. “I could not forget.”

Jim swallowed hard and still was unable to grasp what was happening. “But…”

“You were right,” Ross continued in a rough voice. “She was with child when I came back, and I was burning with bad conscience, and still I could not stop thinking of you. Maybe I was cursed, and she cursed with me. Maybe it was just the way things are sometimes.”  
“She died in childbed,” Jim whispered.

Ross nodded and closed his eyes for a moment. His voice was hoarse with pain when he spoke again.

“The child never opened his eyes. And she died hours later. Just slipped away from me. And I cannot help but feel that I cursed us all.”  
Jim shook his head. “Many women die like that. I am sorry for your loss.”  
“Are you?” Ross’ voice was sharp as he narrowed his eyes.  
“Yes. I am not indifferent to your pain, Ross.” Jim sighed.

For a moment, they looked in silence at each other.

“But I still do not understand,” Jim said then. “The body?”  
Ross looked down for a moment and shrugged. “I do not know who he was, and neither do I know what crime he committed that he was hanged in the old oak at the crossroad. I passed him by one day, shortly after I buried her, when I was walking just to get away from the empty house. And the same night I came back with my horse and cut him down.” He shuddered violently. “It was the most terrible, disgusting thing I have ever done. But for him…” Then Ross looked up with a mirthless little smile. “He got a better burial than any petty criminal could ever hope for. I doused the bed with all the spirits I had and toppled over a candle stick. Then I left. And his bones got a fine casket, a mass and prayers said over his grave. And I… I am here now, wearing a hanged man’s clothes.”

Jim had listened in silence. Now he looked at Ross and saw the desperate hope in those whiskey-coloured eyes.

“I know we parted on a bitter note,” Ross continued, his voice almost pleading now. “But I did not know what else to do. But I never forgot you. I never forgot. I knew, back then, and I still do.”  
“Know what?” Jim crossed his arms to hide his trembling fingers.  
“You know.” Ross calmly met his eyes now.

For a long moment, dark brown and bright blue eyes locked, their eyes trying to look into the depths of each other’s soul.

“You’re mine,” Jim whispered, holding his gaze.  
“Yours,” Ross replied without looking away.

A heartbeat stretched into eternity.

“Will you take me with you?”  
Jim tilted his head. “With me?”  
“You said I can have freedom with you, and own the world.”  
“And you said that I am not one to bind myself to anyone.”  
Ross inhaled deeply and slowly, and nodded. “And I was not willing to put it to the test.”  
“And now?” Jim pressed his lips together.  
“Now?” Ross chuckled mirthlessly. “Now I am.”

The silence was cold and heavy now.

Ross squared his shoulders and thrust out his chin. “Can you forgive me for being a coward?”

Jim took a step forward. Maybe Ross had been a coward. And maybe he had been the one hanging on to common sense by his fingernails. Was forgiveness needed?

His subconscious mind had an answer to that question, and without making a conscious decision about it he took another step forward. Then they had their arms around each other, and with every heartbeat they tightened their grip.

Their first kiss was both shy and desperate; it tasted of salt and of regret, but also of hope. Time lost all meaning, even though the ship’s bell faithfully struck the passing of the hours.

How long they had stood there neither of them could say, but it was still dark and the moon still visible above the horizon, it’s light reflecting in the calm waters, a silver line, like a road leading towards the horizon into the unknown.

Then Jim took Ross by the hand and led him across the plank and aboard his ship. He had his men take some of the fresh water they had to ready a bath, and he charged his first mate with organizing some clothes as he had the same shape and size as Ross. Then he produced his shaving gear while Ross soaked in water that was just about not cold anymore. He complained very little.

“You clean up nicely,” Jim said as he put his razor away again.  
Ross stroked his newly shaved chin with a smile. “I was beginning to feel like a mongrel.”  
“You sure smelled like one.”

The laugh that burst free at that was pure relief, joy to be alive and free, and they fell into the narrow cot that was Jim’s bed.

“You’re mine,” Jim whispered between breathless kisses.  
“Yours,” Ross replied every single time.

“Yours,” he whispered while Jim undressed him again and himself.

“Yours,” he whispered as Jim took his body, thoroughly but gently as there was no need any more to mark him to remind him whom he belonged to.

There was no need for Ross to do the same when Jim gave himself to him.

They fell asleep surrounded by the smell of sweat and coconut oil.

With the rising sun and the rising tide they left Penzance, and the ship leaned into the wind as her sails dropped, as if she was eager to stretch her wings and soar.

Jim and Ross stood at the prow, close enough to each other their bodies touched, and the wind tossed their hair around as they looked out towards the horizon. There, past the Irish Sea, the world was waiting for them.

This time their kiss tasted of the salty spray of freedom.


End file.
